


A Bodyguard for Christmas

by Goneahead



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Meet-Cute, Graphic Descriptions of Snow and Maine Winters, Innkeeper AU, Random Christmas Crafts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27934801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goneahead/pseuds/Goneahead
Summary: When Victor Hesse escapes from prison, NCIS agent Steve McGarrett heads to Maine to protect Danny Williams, the sailor whose testimony put Hesse behind bars. Except Danny has an inn to run now, and refuses to go into hiding. Which leaves Steve with no choice but to spend the holiday posing as Danny’s boyfriend.A H50 Christmas meet-cute gift forOne Million Words, the best little writing community out there!
Relationships: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
Comments: 35
Kudos: 140
Collections: One Million Words





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> note 1: This fic started as a ‘what if Steve had to move to a winter wonderland’ shower thought--and then this happened.
> 
> note 2: I wrote a fic in the early days of H50 where Danny had a brother and _three_ sisters (before we had details on his family). Yes, baby sister Maggie is now my Williams family head canon, and I will fight you on this :)
> 
> note 3: I'm a Texan, so I just did my best with Maine slang?
> 
> note 4: woefully unbetaed
> 
> note 5: I forgot to post the map I made. Ooops. Holly Springs Inn

~~+~~

(Friday) The Holly Springs Inn, built in 1831, was a sprawling building with no real rhyme or reason to its layout. Danny’s grandparents added to the muddle when they bought it; built on a new wing, carved two more guest rooms out of the old library, and squeezed bathrooms into improbable places.

Danny was currently dealing with that muddle--and their newest employee. He led Carter through the main hall, then the music room--which they used as a second dining room--and into the keeping room.

He nodded at his Granddad Ed, who was sitting in his favorite chair, reading his Kindle. Then Danny grabbed the small knob, half hidden in the carved panels. “See? Closet. And voila--vacuum cleaner.”

Carter was built big like most of the Washingtons, but was seventeen--and still awkward and uncoordinated. His feet stopped and then the rest of him, and he looked flummoxed. “I swear that handle wasn’t there earlier.”

“Well, let’s hope it doesn’t disappear before you finish the vacuuming.” Danny turned, heading back toward the main hall, and on to the _next_ problem. Which was--

NCIS Agent Steve McGarrett was standing in the middle of the hall.

Danny’s heart stopped--partly because it was Steve McGarrett, and mostly because seeing Steve reminded Danny of the worst year of his life. 

“Danny.” Steve strode forward, “We need to talk.”

He considered saying ‘no’, but he knew, from experience, the NCIS agent was pretty much a toddler in adult form, and words like ‘no’ and ‘don’t get other people shot’ weren’t a part of his vocabulary.

He probably didn’t eat his vegetables, either.

Danny fumbled through the antique lectern that served as the inn’s front desk, all too aware that having only one good hand was hampering his search for what he needed. “If I listen, am I going to get shot again?”

Steve frowned.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Danny finally found the notebook. He looked up the number, written in his mother’s hurried scrawl, and punched it into his phone.

“Danny--”

“Did you commandeer my sheets? If not, then stop talking.” He took a certain petty pleasure in watching Steve gape at him as the laundry service answered their phone. 

He was prepared to yell, but the man who answered began apologizing the moment Danny introduced himself. Wreck on the highway, extra holiday deliveries, yada yada yada.

The laundry would be here by six pm--which was all Danny needed to hear. He hung up the phone.

“Danny, we--”

“Need to talk. We’ve established that--along with the significantly more important fact that I don’t want to be shot again.” Danny found Cyndi’s number in his contacts. Cyndi might be his mom’s best friend, but she was also a bit of a flake. “Cyndi? Yes, it’s Friday, and yes, I need my flowers.”

More apologies, and a promise that the flowers would also be there by six. He hung up the phone, again.

“Hi, welcome to--”

Danny turned, “He’s not a guest, mom. This is Agent Steve McGarrett.”

“Mrs. Williams.” Steve flashed her a smile, “I need to speak to your son. In private.”

“We can talk in here.” His mom stepped into the music room, because apparently ‘in private’ actually meant ‘with your mother present’. “And don’t you ‘Mrs. Williams’ me--what’s going on?”

Danny glanced at his watch and then followed them, bracing himself for two things. One, Hesse was free. It was the only possible explanation for Steve McGarrett to be here, in Holly Springs, Maine. Two, he was absolutely _not_ going to notice--or care--that Steve looked like crap.

Steve was back to frowning, “Victor Hesse escaped yesterday. We need to--”

“Put my life on hold again?” Danny held up his left arm, splint and all. “Get me shot again? No, and no--and, in case you weren’t listening, no.”

“It’s your decision.” His mom touched his shoulder, her eyes dark with worry, “But Danny, maybe you should listen to--”

“And who’s going to run the inn, Mom? Stella’s on bedrest, Dad’s supposed to be taking it easy, Eric went to work for the county, and Matty is bartending in Belize--we hope. That leaves you, me, Maggie, and Bridget and Doug. And Maggie has her dissertation to write, and we need Bridget in the kitchen.”

“About time you acknowledge my general awesomeness.” Bridget walked in, retying her apron. “Any particular reason we’re discussing the family business with a random guest? Or is this another one of those ‘but all modern hotels are doing it’ things?”

“This is Agent Steve McGarrett.” Danny added, when he saw his sister’s silent question, “Yes, as in Navy-Steve.”

Bridget’s usual cheerfulness vanished. “As in Steve-who-got-my-brother-shot-Steve?”

“Look.” Steve broke in. “Like it or not, Danny, we need to get you to some place safe, where we can protect you.”

“I’m safe right here, in Holly Springs.” Danny glanced at his watch again. “We have one road into town, our only industries are whoopie pies, fudge, and candles, and everyone who lives here is either a Washington or a Russo or a Williams.”

“As much as it pains me to have these words come out of my mouth--my brother’s right.” Bridget’s words practically dripped sarcasm. “He’s certainly safer than, oh, I don’t know, a naval base? Like, where he got _shot_?”

“My daughter makes a good point.” His mom put her hands on her hips. “When it comes to keeping my son safe, you’ve already stoved it up once.”

“All right.” Steve’s frown had settled somewhere between angry and frustrated. He crossed his arms. “I’ll let my team know we’re staying here and--”

“Again, no.” Danny checked his watch for the third time. “I’m not going to have you and your fellow troglodytes hunkering in the corners, scaring the guests.”

“Fine. You’re still divorced?”

Danny stared at Steve, wondering where _that_ question had come from. “Yes, that’s generally how divorces work.”

“Then my team will work with the local law officers, and I’ll be your boyfriend. Next Friday is Christmas--you can tell your guests I flew up to Maine to spend the holidays with you and your family.”

“What? Are you insane?!” 

_And how in the hell did Steve even know he was bisexual?_

“It’s actually a wicked good cover story.” His sister turned traitor. “I mean, you did date the first male cheerleader Holly Springs High ever had.”

Steve’s mouth became a funny little line when Bridget said ‘male cheerleader’.

His mom patted his shoulder again, and abandoned him as well. “It _is_ a compromise, Danny.” 

“A compromise implies being ‘reasonable’--this is pretty much the _opposite_ of reasonable. And I don’t have time to argue, because I’ve got to do room checks.” Danny turned, and headed for the back hall. Steve could keep up--or not. “One week. I’m giving you one week, and then I want you gone Saturday morning--even if Hesse is still out there.”

~~+~~

(Thursday) Steve cranked the water as hot as it would go, and then just leaned against the tile wall. Fuck, but he was tired.

This year had been one clusterfuck after another. It started in March with a double header--his fortieth birthday and Lou’s retirement party. The next month, NCIS got handed two ugly, sordid misconduct cases back to back, and in August--

In August one of their planes had gone down in Qurac, killing Special Agent-in-Charge Catherine Rollins and two other NCIS agents.

Damn, but he missed Cath. He didn’t always agree with how she’d ran things, but she’d been a good leader--and an even better friend. NCIS was still a place where most of the brass didn’t really embrace gays--there was a reason he was on the other side of forty, and only an acting SAC.

They were still reeling from Cath’s death when the team was assigned a possible embezzlement scheme. For the past three months, they’d assemble a mountain of evidence--and flown to San Diego this week to present it. Which meant a popular and heavily-decorated captain was going to be court martialed.

_Fuck._

Steve pushed off the wall. It was a typical hotel bathroom, the shower head a little too low, but he made it work. Then he grabbed a towel, did a half-ass job of drying off, and pulled a clean pair of boxers out of his ready bag. Paused to eye the small wet bar.

Steve resolutely turned around--he longer trusted himself to drink alone. 

Five years ago, his team had chased Anton Hesse halfway around the world, witnessing first hand Anton’s casual cruelty. Steve had become a little too comfortable with both brutal crime scene photos _and_ alcohol by the end of it all. 

He didn’t regret killing Anton, but he did regret that Anton’s brother had taken his rage out on the sailor who was their key witness. For a moment, Steve’s mind skidded dangerously close to thinking about that sailor. A sailor who was happily married--and out of the Navy on a medical discharge, thanks to their team’s carelessness.

He toweled his hair semi-dry, then crawled into bed, already knowing he wasn’t going to get any real sleep. He tossed and turned for a while, finally fell into a fitful slumber--

His phone rang. 

Steve reached for it, thumbed it on.

Jerry Ortega.

He was immediately awake. He dragged himself to his feet, grabbing his pants as he answered. “What’s going on?”

“Victor Hesse escaped from Leavenworth two hours ago. I’ve already talked to the base; they’re sending a car around to the hotel. I also called in a favor--you guys are cleared to land in Oromocto.”

“Oromocto?” Steve had never heard of the place.

“Home of the Canadian Fifth Battalion. We tracked down Daniel Williams, he’s living in upper Maine. I’m going to go out an a limb and say that if the fastest way to get to your town is to land in Canada first, you’ve taken ‘living remote’ to a whole other level.”

Steve felt something twist inside him at Danny’s name, and he quickly clamped down on his emotions as he snagged a clean shirt. “I’ll wake Chin and Kono.” 

Oh,” Jerry’s voice changed ever so slightly, “and the Director has told me to call in Tani and Junior, have them track Hesse, starting at the prison.”

It was a warning--the Director was taking a personal interest in this case. 

Steve swore inwardly, but only said, “Good idea. Tell them I want an update by 1700 tomorrow.”

~~+~~

(Friday) “One week. I’m giving you one week, and then I want you gone Saturday morning--even if Hesse is still out there.” Danny was already moving, barreling towards another door.

Steve had to half-jog to catch up, wondering what the fuck he’d just done. He’d reviewed Danny’s file on the flight to Canada, and sure, finding out Danny was divorced _and_ bisexual had been eye-opening--but what had possessed him to say he would pose as Danny’s boyfriend?

Danny stepped into a small storage room, right next to the back door. It was cramped, with a set of shelves running along one wall, and two rows of hooks, full of assorted coats, on the other wall.

Steve followed, found himself standing uncomfortably close to Danny. So close, he could smell the guy’s aftershave and shampoo. 

“Either that’s the only jacket you packed--or you’re a total numb.” Danny handed him a thick wool coat. “Put this on. And grab a hat and gloves.”

Danny was right--at least the ‘only packing one jacket’ part. It’d been snowing earlier, and Steve had nearly frozen just walking the short distance from the rental car to the inn’s front door. 

He reached for the coat, all too aware that he and Danny were pressed almost chest to chest in the tight space. He took a hasty step back, slipped the coat on over his jacket, checking to make sure he could still get to his gun in the belly band, before grabbing a knitted cap and a pair of gloves. 

Danny, meanwhile, began pulling on what looked like a leg warmer, but with a thumb hole, over his splint. He tugged it all the way up, over his left elbow, worked his thumb into the hole, then slid a glove on. 

He glanced up, “The medical genius who invented metal plates clearly never lived in Maine in the winter.” 

Steve wished, again, Cath had made a different call five years ago. Or at least assigned Steve to be the main one to protect Danny, instead of Joe White. She and Joe had both underestimated Victor--and it was Danny who’d paid the price. “Danny, I’m sorry.”

“Stow it. I’m ten minutes behind.” Danny shrugged on a coat. He pulled an index card out of his shirt pocket, put it between his teeth, then did up the coat buttons one-handed. Jerked on a beanie, grabbed the index card. “Let’s go.”

“Wait.” Steve stepped in front of him, opened the back door. Even though the sun was shining, it was only a few degrees above freezing. He knew there was no way Hesse could have made it from Kansas to Maine yet, but he still moved slowly, stepping off the small porch, keeping his hand close to his gun.

Steve had memorized the property’s layout on the plane flight. Holly Springs Inn sat on six acres, nestled into a bend of the river. Besides the inn, there was a carriage house, six guest cabins, two barns, and the family cottage.

The inn was the highest building. The only other likely place for a sniper was a handful of trees on the other side of the river--but the trees were stripped bare for the winter. 

In fact, there currently was very little cover anywhere on the property. And Chin and Kono were watching the main road, and the local sheriff’s department had agreed to do extra patrols.

Steve knew that there was very little danger and yet--Cath and Joe had badly miscalculated. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake--

”Seriously? Maybe you have time to glare at the snow banks, but I’ve got room checks to do.” Danny grumbled, pushing his way past Steve, as he headed down a path, which somebody had already shoveled clear from the earlier snow. He threw a disparaging look over his shoulder. “Do me favor, and try not to shoot a guest cabin.” 

And Steve found himself hurrying to keep up. Again.

It turned out the Williams ran a surprisingly tight ship. Guests left by eleven, rooms and cabins were cleaned, any room or cabin that had a reservation for that day was then inspected--and by one in the afternoon, check-ins for the next round of guests started.

It was also a _lot_ of walking. Danny inspected two of the cabins, making a trip to the main house to grab more coffee pods. He then went back to the inn, and checked three of the upstairs guest rooms, which included going downstairs to the storage room twice--once to grab a box of tissues and once to refill a soap dispenser. 

Danny then headed downstairs again, inspected two more rooms on the main floor, only to make another trip to the back hall. This time, he opened a door, revealing another set of stairs, leading to the basement. 

The stairs were old, steep and uneven, and led down to what was a warren of rooms, divided by thick stone walls. The ceiling was so low that Steve had to duck a couple of times under pipes. Danny stopped, opened a surprisingly modern-looking door. He stepped into a room that smelled faintly of roses, and was stacked with towels.

The lights suddenly went out.

Shit! Steve immediately pushed Danny against the shelves, reached for his gun--

“Get off me!” Danny put a hand on his chest and shoved. “Jeesh, are you going to do this every time the electricity fritzes out? No, don’t answer that--you’re probably itching for a reason to shoot the breaker box.”

Steve froze, because Danny was _touching_ him.

“Off!” He shoved Steve again--harder. “Make yourself useful, and get the flashlight. It should be hanging on the door.”

“So. Uh.” Steve took a step backward. He reached for the door knob, felt around--his questing fingers found the strap, and then the flashlight. He grabbed it, clicked it on. “Do the lights go out a lot?”

“Yeah, it’s almost like the basement was never built to be electrified.” Danny grabbed a stack of towels, balancing them in the crook of his left arm. “Of course, the staff claims it’s Anne, our resident ghost.”

Steve angled the flashlight so Danny could see. “You have a… ghost?”

“I’m pretty sure it's a legal requirement if you’re running a historic inn in Maine. Anne was the wife of--” Danny stopped as the lights flicked on. “The wife of Jacob, the guy who originally built the place. You might as well put the flashlight back--Anne likes you.”

Steve couldn’t tell if Danny was joking, or not. He hung the flashlight on the door, then followed him up the stairs--trying _not_ to think of Danny’s hand, spread across his chest.

~~+~~

Danny stepped into the main hall ten minutes later, still trying _not_ to think of how Steve’s body had felt, pressed against him in the dark. It was bad enough he’d been forced into the whole ‘boyfriend’ charade--he didn’t really appreciate being reminded that it had been literally years since he’d been with anybody romantically.

“Room checks are complete--anything else need to be done?”

His mom was at the front desk, checking the registrations. She looked up, “The Boston Russos are staying in--”

“Yup, I put extra coffee pods in both cabins.”

His mom checked the reservation list again. “And the Smithvilles will need--” 

“More towels? Yup, already taken care of. I also called Cyndi; she will deliver the flowers at six--and supposedly, our laundry should show up at the same time.”

She smiled. “Why do I even bother to ask?”

“Because you enjoy nagging your children?” Granddad Ed shuffled through the hall, probably on his way to get another cup of coffee.

“She most _definitely_ enjoys nagging us.” Maggie walked in through the music room door, with Carter trailing her. She glanced at Steve, and gave Danny a mischievous smile. “So--Christopher threw a pom pom in your face, Rachel rear-ended you, and Steve got you shot. I’m starting to see a pattern here--Danno.”

“And don’t forget Jane at the True-Value--who spilled paint on him.” His mom threw him under the bus for the _second_ time that day.

Before Danny could reply, the first carful of the Boston Russos spilled through the door. For the next couple of hours, he helped his mom and his sister with the familiar routine of checking in guests.

Well, _almost_ familiar. Because Maggie was taking a certain sadistic glee in introducing Steve as his boyfriend. 

Many of their guests had been coming for years, and had practically become family. Danny didn’t enjoy lying--but he had to admit it was gratifying to see Steve trying to deal with the guests’ enthusiastic hugs and unsolicited advice. 

Mrs. Norwood’s advice was the best. She and her husband were retired doctors, and in their 70s. She gave Steve a grandmotherly smile, “So, you’re Danny’s new beau?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve flashed her a return smile. “I am.”

“Good for you.” Mrs. Norwood patted his arm. “Just remember, young man, if you love him, you’ll wear protection.” 

If Danny hadn’t been mad at Steve, watching him stammer and blush would have been kind of adorable. OK, it _was_ adorable, but Danny was still mad at the guy.

Well, mostly mad.

Mostly.

The second wave of the Boston Russos showed up then, and there was a solid ten minutes of bedlam before they were all corralled and shepherded to their cabins.

His mom gave a sigh, and closed the guest book. “All right, that’s the last of them. I’m going to check on your father.”

Danny took a step towards the sitting room, “And I’ll go see how Bridget’s coming with--

“Danno?” Sophie, Bridget’s seven-year old daughter walked in. “Why don’t you have a Christmas tree?”

“You don’t have a tree?” His mom stopped.

“No, because Grace is with Rachel this Christmas, so I don’t need a tree--and why were you at my place?”

“I was looking for my reindeer sweater.” Sophie plucked at the sweater she was wearing. “He should have a tree, right, Grandma?”

Maggie came in to grab the last of the Boston Russos’ luggage. “Who doesn’t have a tree?”

“Your brother.” His mom said, at the same time Sophie said, “Danno.”

“Well, we only have two reservations tomorrow.” Maggie gave him a sly smile, “I could help with breakfast and stuff, and he could go get one. I’m sure the tree farm has a few left.”

Danny opened his mouth to protest, because the _last_ thing he needed--or wanted--was to buy a Christmas tree with Steve in tow.

Except his mom, being his mom, was already talking. “That’s an excellent idea! And here I was, trying to figure out where we could put Steve--but he can just stay in Grace’s room.”

Danny glared at both his mom _and_ his sister. “I’m going to go see if Bridget needs help setting up for tea.”

“You do that. Steve?” His mom waved at his sister. “Give Maggie your keys--she’ll tote your luggage over to Danny’s place.”

~~+~~

It was eight-thirty when Danny finally led Steve over to his place; a small two bedroom apartment over the carriage house. He wasn’t entirely sure what to do about Steve. He was mad at the guy but--he also seemed exhausted.

Steve had already looked like crap when he’d arrived this morning. Of course, this was Danny’s family. Steve said ‘fake boyfriend’, and the Williams clan somehow heard ‘busboy and dishwasher’.

In the summer, between weddings and local festivals, the inn was usually full. They also held afternoon tea every day. The local historical society made sure their tours always ended in time to take tea at the inn--and the local book store and the library found the teas were a useful lure to get authors to do book signings in Holly Springs. 

In the winter, the inn just managed to squeak by. They cut their teas down to Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays; and relied on repeat guests and hosting holiday parties to pay the bills. The result was Danny and his family were actually busier in the winter, when they couldn’t afford--or justify--having seasonal help. 

This year, thanks to his dad’s hernia surgery, Stella’s pregnancy, and Maggie’s college work, they were even more short-handed than usual. Especially since Matty and Eddy had taken jobs elsewhere. 

Steve had made the mistake of offering to carry one of the drink urns. Bridget and her husband Doug had immediately put him to work, helping with the five hour slog of afternoon tea and dinner. 

The guy hadn’t complained once, either.

Danny closed the door, kicked the draft guard into place, hung his coat on one of the wall pegs. Steve was also hanging up the coat he’d borrowed, and their arms almost bumped.

“Um, Steve?” Danny looked up, all too aware of how close Steve was. “Thanks for the help tonight.”

“It’s OK.” Steve gave him a weary smile. “I’m guessing Doug hates doing dishes?”

“Well, usually Stella is the designated dishwasher, but she’s on bedrest.” Danny pulled his gaze away from that smile, “Bathroom is that door there, and Grace’s bedroom is there. I’m going to turn in early; you might want to do the same.”

Steve crossed his arms, “Danny? I need you to promise me that you won’t leave this apartment, not unless I’m with you. Two of my team tracked Hesse to a carjacking in Kentucky this morning. I know you’re not taking this seriously, but we have to assume he’s heading here.”

”Kentucky?” Danny was taking Hesse’s escape very seriously--he just didn't trust NCIS, for good reason. Although Steve was at least acting concerned--certainly more concerned than Joe or Catherine had been five years ago. “Which is, what, a good day and half from Maine?”

Steve stepped closer, his voice tight with worry. “Twenty-six to twenty-eight hours, if Hesse drives straight through.” 

“So, tomorrow afternoon.” Danny pointed out, and firmly reminded himself that having ‘tall, dark, and worried’ looming over him was _not_ the hottest thing that had happened to him since his divorce four years ago. “At the earliest.”

“You’re right, he shouldn’t be able to make it here before 1400 tomorrow--but I don’t want to chance it.” Steve managed to move even closer; his voice low, almost a growl. “Danny, I need you to promise me.”

“Fine. I promise I won’t leave without letting you know. Happy?” Danny waited for Steve to nod, then he headed to his own bedroom. He shut the door, reminding himself that Steve’s worry was purely professional. And besides, Steve was NCIS.

And he was still mad at NCIS.

And he wasn’t attracted to ‘tall, dark, and worried’.

At all.

~~+~~

(Saturday) _It was raining, a summer storm rolling in from the coast. Water poured for the sky, and Chin and Steve huddled under the scant protection of the overhang, waiting._

_The SUV finally pulled up, more than a half an hour late. Joe got out, opened the door._

_There was the sudden crack of a rifle shot--_

Steve jerked awake, and for a moment, he thought he still heard rain. 

It was the shower running.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, and fumbled for the switch on the small lamp beside the bed. For a moment, things slid into the surreal. He was surrounded by toys and dolls and stuffed animals, and yet, his brain was still stuck on _that_ day. 

Joe gunned down; Danny and the driver shot. He and Chin, slipping and sliding in the rain and the blood, trying to keep both Danny and the driver alive. And only sheer stupid, blind luck that, thanks to the rain, Hesse had mistaken Joe for Danny. 

Only sheer stupid, blind luck that, thanks to the rain, Kono and Junior were hunkered down on a different roof; so they were looking almost straight down at the very balcony that Hesse had chosen for his perch.

And now Hesse was free to go after Danny again.

Steve dragged himself to his feet, checked the time. 6:27. He pulled a clean shirt and pants out of his ready bag. He’d just gotten dressed when there was a knock. The shower was still running, so he walked to the front door, glanced through the peephole.

It was Bridget’s husband. Doug was a big bear of man, with a mouth that seemed to be permanently slanted up, in an affable grin. 

Steve opened the door, and Doug held out a shopping bag. “Danny said you might could use some warmer clothes. ‘Fraid Maine can be wicked cold this time of year.”

“Thanks.” Steve took the bag, which was surprisingly heavy.

“No worries--happy to help.” He turned to leave, stopped. ”And if you happen to make it home by say, three or so, we sure wouldn’t say no to you pitching in again.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” Steve watched the guy leave. It was funny how Danny’s family started warming up to him being there--once they found out he was willing to do dishes, and haul trays back and forth to the dining rooms.

He closed the door, turned around--oh. Oh, fuck. Danny was standing there, wearing nothing but a pair of sweats.

Steve had been attracted to Danny the first time he’d seen him. Danny was definitely his type; short, muscular--with a bit of an attitude. He’d also been married _and_ a key witness.

And Steve’s dick definitely didn’t need to know Danny was even better looking when he was half-naked, with wet hair.

“I’ll put a shirt on.” Danny glared at him, his words harsh and angry. And then he disappeared into his room, slamming the door behind him.

Steve stood there confused for a moment. Why was Danny--oh, the scars. Danny had thought he was staring at his scars. He looked at Danny’s bedroom door, down at the bag--and did the only thing he could. 

He retreated to Grace’s bedroom, giving Danny some time to cool down.

He checked the bag, found several sweaters, a couple of pairs of thermal underwear, and some thicker socks. He stripped, got dressed again--this time with extra layers. Danny was now banging around the kitchen, so Steve checked to make sure he could access his gun in the belly band, then stepped out into the living room. 

“Coffee’s ready.” Danny’s words were flat, clipped. “French toast and eggs OK?”

“Sure.” Steve slipped into the tiny kitchenette to get a cup of coffee, found himself almost on top of Danny. 

Who was obviously still mad.

He took a quick step into the living room, sipped his coffee, and tried to figure out what to do. He could just let it go, but--he needed Danny to trust him. At least until Hesse was captured. That meant… coming clean.

Steve took another swallow of coffee, walked back into the kitchen.

“Here, eggs.” Danny handed him a plate. “French toast will be up in a sec.”

“Uh, Danny?” He stared down at the scrambled eggs. “I’m gay. And uh, trust me, I wasn’t noticing your scars.” He pulled his gaze up.

Danny was giving him a hard, suspicious look.

No surprise there. This was exactly why he’d given up dating--he always seemed to wind up either apologizing, or pissing the other guy off. Usually both.

He hastily retreated to a safer subject. “You, uh, have pepper?”

“Yeah.” Danny’s splint wrapped around his left thumb, holding it rigid. He had a tendency to use the edge of his thumb to hold things. He did it now, leaning the spatula against the inside of his thumb, while he reached for more butter. He jerked his head toward the table. “Over there.”

And then Steve felt like an idiot. Because both the salt and pepper shakers were sitting on the table. “Sorry.”

Danny continued to look at him for a long second, then turned back to the stove.“You’re gay? I thought you and Catherine were, well, together.”

“No, she was a good friend, but--” It dawned on him that Danny didn’t know. “She was killed this summer.”

“I’m sorry.” Danny flipped the French toast. “That must be rough.”

“Yeah. It's been hard on the entire team.” Steve grabbed Danny’s plate of eggs, carried both plates to the table.

“Can you get the syrup? It’s in the cupboard to the right of the stove.” 

Once again, there was no real space in the kitchenette. Steve slid around Danny, grabbed the syrup. He could smell both Danny’s aftershave and his shampoo, and the scents reminded him that he now knew exactly what Danny looked like, when he was wearing just a pair of sweats and nothing else--

Danny gave him a sharp look, stacked French toast on a plate.

Steve took a step away from him, “Want me to grab that?” 

”Sure.” Danny put the pan in the sink, picked up his coffee and followed him to the table.

Steve set down the syrup and the plate of French toast, and sat. Danny was eying him over the edge of his mug.

Steve picked up his fork. “This looks great, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Danny took another swallow before he set his mug down, picked up his fork.

Steve risked another glance across the table, but he couldn’t tell if Danny was still mad at him--or not.

~~+~~

Danny snagged the keys for the ancient green Suburban and then walked out to the small parking court. Steve trailed behind him, like his own personal shadow.

Danny had the sinking feeling he was in trouble. 

He hated being stared at. He especially hated the look people gave him when they realized he was doing everything one-handed. 

It was the ultimate joke. He took two bullets, one in his side, and another through his wrist. The bullet in his side nicked an artery, nearly killing him, but leaving no lasting damage. The bullet through the wrist wasn’t life-threatening, but it left him with a useless jigsaw puzzle, held together with screws and plates.

So, yeah. He’d over-reacted this morning. And then Steve had to go and make that sorry attempt at fixing things. That _very_ inept apology--or explanation--or whatever it was.

How did Danny keep his defenses up against that? And yet, there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in hell that this… thing… between them was going anywhere. Unlike him, Steve still had the Navy and a career, and he would be leaving Holly Springs as soon as Hesse was captured. Or next Saturday. Whichever came first.

Danny started the engine, flipped the radio to a station playing Christmas music. He half-expected Steve to talk, but the guy remained quiet on the short drive over to the tree farm. Just before he turned onto the side road leading to the Washingtons’ farm, Steve’s phone rang.

It was the director of NCIS, and he was clearly not happy that Danny was still in Holly Springs. Steve stood his ground, making it sound like it was his idea to have Danny stay at the inn. The call ended in a stalemate.

Danny pulled in, parked. “You lied.”

“Yeah.” Steve slid his phone into his pocket, but didn’t say anything else. He seemed bothered by the conversation and Danny wondered about that. Steve was obviously now the SAC, but it didn’t sound like him and the director got along.

Tamika Washington strolled up then, and Danny got out.

She grinned, “So. This is Steve.”

“Yes.” Danny waved a hand in her general direction. “Steve? This is Tamika--three time Holly Springs axe throwing champion--and Maggie’s girlfriend.”

Steve’s eyes widened slightly. “Good to meet you. Axe-throwing?”

“I’m a Christmas tree farmer--got to do something in the summer months with all my mad skills.” Tamika turned back to Danny, “Maggie says you’re needing a tree, ‘bout eight feet tall? I got the perfect one. Follow me--Danno.”

Danny was a bit perplexed on how Maggie and Tamika made things work. Tamika loved the outdoors, hunting, and participating in just about any sport--especially snowboarding. His baby sister was happiest when she was sitting, comfy and toasty, on a couch--usually reading sappy romances or watching reality TV. 

But Maggie and Tamika had been together since high school, and they seemed happy as ever.

Tamika started walking, stopping to pick up an axe, resting it on her shoulder with an easy grace. Danny followed--and Steve reached out. He wrapped his hand around Danny’s left hand, and Danny’s heart stuttered to a stop for a moment. 

The tree farm was fairly busy, but Steve didn’t seem to care. He strolled along, holding Danny’s hand, acting like this was perfectly normal.

Tamika led them out to a line of trees. She slowed, pointed. “What do you think? That blue spruce is just shy of 8 feet.”

“Sure.” Danny had to admit it was a nice, full tree. “I’ll take it.” 

“Great! I’ll bundle her up, and get her loaded. Go enjoy your hot cocoa.” Tamika gave him another wide grin, began stamping through the snow towards the tree.

“Thanks. It’s unlocked.” He shook his head at her enthusiasm, started walking towards the barn. 

“She seems to really enjoy her job.” Steve glanced over his shoulder.

“The Washingtons founded Holly Springs. They own nearly everything on this side of the valley--and the town rumor is every single one of them is part polar bear.” Danny walked into the barn, spotted Deon, Tamika’s dad. “I was just explaining to Steve here that your family thinks playing hockey in snow storms is perfectly sane.”

“Ayuh. Best time to be on the ice.” Deon laughed as he set out two cups of hot cocoa. “Decided you needed another tree?”

“I was informed by my mother and Maggie that I needed another tree, therefore, I needed another tree.” Danny reached for his wallet, and Steve finally let go of his hand, picked up a cup.

”Well, talking about storms--don’t believe the weatherman. There’s a wicked northeaster going to blow in early, probably after supper. Wouldn’t be surprised if we all get snowed in tomorrow.”

“That bad, huh?” Danny put his wallet away, grabbed the other cup. “I’ll let our guests know--we got a family that are supposed to drive over to Danforth tomorrow.”

He paid and they wandered outside to wait for the tree to be loaded. Well, Danny waited--Steve seemed pretty engrossed in the hot cocoa. He finished his, and eyed Danny’s. 

”Here.” Danny handed his cup over.

“You’re good to go.” Tamika strode up, gave him a questioning look. “You’re not drinking cocoa?”

Danny glanced up at Steve. “He stole mine.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth quirked up. “What do you mean, ‘stole’?”

Danny’s heart stuttered to a stop for the second time, because the only thing hotter than seeing Steve half smiling at him, his mouth smeared with cocoa--was seeing him like this, relaxed and enjoying himself.

“He’s a Williams, Steve--they’ll say anything to get a rise out of you.” Tamika laughed. “Tell Maggie I’ll try to get off early, so we can be snowed in together.”

“And by ‘snowed in together’ you mean ‘riding that new snowmobile’?” Danny teased back. Tamika had just bought a new Ski-Doo, and her and Maggie had been finding every excuse they could to ride it together.

“Hey, if it wasn’t for me, your sister wouldn’t even know what Vitamin D is.” Tamika waved at another customer who was pulling up. “And now? I got to go rustle a twelve-foot Basalm.”

Danny walked to the battered old SUV, which now had a blue spruce lashed to the top. He checked his watch. It wasn’t even nine. And despite Steve’s concern, there was no way Hesse could be here, yet. “I have an idea--why don’t we head into town. Holly Springs is known for fudge, whoopie pies, more whoopie pies--and a diner which makes a mean Italian. And yes, you have my word--we'll be back well before two.”

“Noon.” Steve frowned, held out his hand, “We should play it safe, be back by noon. I’ll drive.”

Danny hesitated, then handed him the keys. “I see how this is going to be--eat my food, drink my cocoa, drive my car.”

The joke worked. Steve relaxed again, shooting him a smile as they got into the Suburban.

~~+~~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> still woefully unbetaed.

~~+~~

Snow was beginning to fall as they drove back to the inn. Steve found the drive surprisingly relaxful. The SUV was old, but it had snow chains, and sandbags in the trunk, and handled the roads better than his much newer rental.

Maine was beginning to grow on him--maybe because it was so different from Hawaii, where he’d been raised. There was almost no traffic, and the snowy fields, red barns, and old stone walls seemed like something out of a Christmas card. 

_Normal._

It hit him that today was what normal must feel like. Hawaii might be accepting of gays, but his dad certainly wasn’t. Steve had hidden that part of himself from his parents, even dated girls in high school. It got better when he became a SEAL--as long as he carried his weight, nobody really cared. 

Then he transferred to NCIS. The director did a lot of talking about diversity, but turned a blind eye to the casual, everyday harassment.

Steve had tried to tell himself that he took Danny’s hand at the tree farm simply as part of his cover--but it was also a knee jerk reaction to Tamika, who seemed completely comfortable with who she was.

And then they had spent a couple of hours in Holly Springs. Steve hadn’t really considered the power of small town gossip when he’d said he would pose as Danny’s boyfriend. The town seemed pretty evenly divided; about half insisted on hugging Steve and the other half insisted on teasing Danny about finally dating again--

“Turn here.” Danny pointed to a small gate in the long stone wall that ran along the property’s eastern edge. “I’ll unlock the cemetery gate.”

”Cemetery?”

“Yeah. I better drive--you’ll never be able to find the road.” Danny waited for him to park, then got out, hunkering against the falling snow as he messed with the lock.

Steve moved the SUV forward, then slid over to the passenger seat. Danny locked the gate behind them, got back in. As far as Steve could tell, they were just driving across a field. Then another stone wall appeared on the passenger side, and Steve could feel the car tires sinking into older ruts.

“That’s the cemetery. Though we don’t tell the guests about it.” Danny jerked his head toward the wall. “Jacob, Anne, and thirteen of their fourteen kids are all buried there, with a lot of other Washingtons. One of their sons was lost at sea.”

“So the Washingtons originally owned the inn?” Steve glanced at the wall, saw nothing but falling snow, and what looked to be some very big trees beyond.

“Yep. My grandparents bought the inn from Deon’s aunt. My grandma grew up one town over, and she always wanted to move back to Maine. Not sure Granddad Ed knew what he was getting into--he’s from Florida.”

“Yeah? I’m from Hawaii--although I haven’t been home in years.”

“Rachel and I went to Hawaii for our honeymoon.” Danny drove past the larger barn, turned left--and pulled up by the carriage house. “Still can’t figure out how I got talked into it--Hawaii is an over-priced hell hole.”

”Hell hole? How can you not like Hawaii?” Steve got out, saw Doug and Stella’s husband both heading towards them, with Maggie on their heels.

“Let see, its got pineapples, sand, sand--and oh yeah, more sand. Only insane people like Hawaii.”

“Really? I loved Hawaii--wow. I got to say, that’s one nice looking tree.” Doug began untying the tree, so Steve started working on the knots on his side. “I know they’re a little old-fashioned, but I sure do like blue spruces. Watch out--she’s a-coming your way, Allen.”

“Hey, you did that on purpose!” Allen steadied the tree as it tried to roll off the roof. “What did I ever do to you?”

Doug laughed, “I seem to recall somebody knocking me off clean off the porch roof just last summer.”

“Yeah, well, you bounced, didn’t you?” Allen helped Steve wrestle the tree off the SUV, and then three of them managed to get it up the narrow stairs, and into the apartment. 

Maggie handed over the tree stand, and Doug and Allen set up the tree, with a lot more joking and laughter. Danny joined in, finding fault with everything they did, while Maggie rolled her eyes and gave Steve a look that clearly said, ‘See what I have to put up with?’

Somewhere in the middle of it all, it hit Steve that he was jealous. He envied Danny and Maggie and what they had. Home, family, acceptance. 

There wasn’t much difference between being a SEAL and being an NCIS agent. There was always another situation, another mission, another crisis. And for what?

He was on the other side of forty, his dad had retired two years ago, Mary had adopted Joan last year--and his family seemed as far apart as ever.

“Stop it--it’s straight, Danno.” Maggie punched Danny in the arm.

He flicked her ear. “No, the tree’s _mostly_ straight, but it’ll have to do. Deon said there’s a big storm--”

“Blowing in tonight. Yeah, he called earlier, told us.” Maggie smacked him, again. “Mom and I already got the lanterns and lamps ready, and Granddad took care of the generators. The only thing left is the stoves and fireplaces, and moving stuff to the old barn.”

“And Bridget turned on the back up fridge, just in case.” Doug added. “Turns out we have two propane tanks, so we can run that fridge all winter long and probably half the summer, if we need to.” 

Steve’s phone vibrated. He pulled it out--Junior. He stepped into Grace’s bedroom, shut the door. “Hey, Junior, what’s up?”

“Just got off the phone with the police in Dubois, Pennsylvania. Hesse dumped the car at a local truck stop there. They’re still reviewing the security tapes, but they think he only ditched it two to three hours ago.”

Steve put the phone on speaker, checked the map. He was surprised to see Dubois was only about sixteen hours from Leavenworth. Holly Springs was easily another twelve or thirteen hours up the road. “He’s not moving as fast as we thought he would.” 

“That’s what happens when you steal a car with transmission issues. We also got lucky--he dumped it at the truck stop where the local LEOs like to eat. If he’d chosen anywhere else, it might’ve been days before the car was impounded.” 

Junior’s voice was muffled for a moment, then he came back on the line. “Tani checked; Hesse was licensed to drive trucks in Ireland. It’s going to take some time to review the security footage, but our best guess is he either hitched a ride--or maybe even stole a semi.”

Steve was already pulling up a weather app, which confirmed a big storm was barrelling across Maine. “Looks like the weather’s going to buy us some time. We have a snowstorm about to shut everything down up here.”

“Yeah?” There was another muffled conversation. “Sorry--I got to go. Tani and I are flying up there, so we can talk to the LEOs. Hopefully the security tapes will give us something to go on.” 

The phone call disconnected. Steve made a quick call to Chin, then to Jerry, updating them both. Chin and Kono were bunking at the small guest quarters above the local sheriff’s department, so they would bring the sheriff up to speed. Jerry would reach out to the FBI and ATF. Between smuggling and human trafficking, there was an entire network of trucking contacts they could use to try to find Hesse.

That done, he slipped the phone into his pocket. And for a moment, a very unprofessional thought pushed in. There was no way Hesse could get to Maine before the storm hit--which meant he would get to spend at least one more day with Danny. He shoved the thought down, and walked into the living room.

Everybody else had left, except Danny--who was leaning against the kitchen counter, drinking coffee. He gave him a questioning look. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Hesse was last seen in Pennsylvania a couple of hours ago--and there’s a good chance he was caught on security footage. We may be closing in on him.”

“Pennsylvania? Well, that rules out Hesse getting to Maine today--unless they’ve suddenly invented flying cars. Oh wait, all the airports are closed, too. Come on.” Danny put his mug down, and walked toward the front door. “Tamika showed up with another cord already split, so you can help me haul wood.” 

Steve followed, confused. “You still use wood to heat the inn?”

“No, we have two boilers that run on oil.” Danny pulled the stocking over his splint, and the glove, then shrugged his coat on. “But when there’s a chance we might be snowed in, we also use the fireplaces and the woodstoves. We’ve never ran out of oil, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.”

~~+~~

There were a few things that Danny could count on. The Atlantic would throw at least one or two bad storms their way every winter, and they usually wound up snowed in, at least once. And every other year, the Atlantic liked to surprise them with an unusually late snow, or an unseasonably early freeze.

His family was also slightly crazy, so they generally resisted changing the inn’s routines, no matter what the weather did. Today, they laid fires in the fireplaces, stoked the woodstoves, and then shrugged, and served both tea and dinner. By the time the dishes were done, and the kitchen was clean and ready for tomorrow’s breakfast, it was eight-thirty, and the snow was coming down in buckets. 

Which naturally meant Tamika and Maggie, along with Bridget and Doug and Sophie, decided it was the perfect time to decorate his tree. 

Danny would’ve protested more, but Steve got a funny, almost wistful look when Maggie first suggested it. He was beginning to suspect Steve’s family must be vying with the Grinch when it came to Christmas cheer--suspicions that were confirmed when Steve crossed his arms, hanging back while they encircled the tree with lights. 

Danny hung one ornament, then grabbed another, handed it to Steve. Steve put it on a branch with studied care that said he had no clue what he was doing. Bridget and Doug noticed, and both started passing Steve more ornaments.

Tamika, meanwhile, pulled out her phone, found a Christmas playlist. Maggie caught her sister’s eye, and all three picked up the chorus of White Christmas. Danny joined in, grinning at the way Doug belted out the chorus with them. His family wasn’t known for being able to carry a tune or remembering the exact words, but they always made up for these shortcomings with enthusiasm--and volume. 

Tamika inched over, nudged Steve. Steve looked around the room for a second, as if considering possible routes of escape--and then began singing, too. Danny had to admit Steve fit right in; he was only sort of in tune--and he was mumbling, a lot.

An hour later, the tree was decorated, the leftover cookies from the earlier tea were gone, and Bridget and Doug and Sophie, and Maggie and Tamika all left in a flurry of snow and wind.

Steve frowned as the door closed. “Should they be--”

“They’ll be fine; they live right next door.” Danny stacked two glasses, took them to the kitchen. “When Sophie was born, mom and dad converted the barn into a house. Bridget, Doug, and Sophie live on the first floor, Maggie lives in the loft--and in case you were wondering, we only have five guest cabins. Stella and Allen live in the other cabin--and both Eddie and Granddad live with mom and dad.”

“Yeah?” Steve picked up a mug, and then stood there, staring at the tree.

Danny looked over. “Steve?”

“I was--” Steve pulled his gaze away from the tree, “I was just trying to remember the last time we had a tree.”

“You didn’t always have a tree?“ Danny shook the cookie crumbs into the trash, set the tray in the sink.

“I know we had a tree when I was a kid, but I don’t remember us having a tree the last couple of years before my mom died.” He picked up another mug, carried both into the kitchen. “I guess my parents decided we were too old for Christmas.”

“Your mom died?” Danny’s heart twisted a little. Steve had mentioned his sister a couple of times, but until now, he’d never talked about his parents. “How old were you?”

Steve’s tone went flat, and his face became expressionless. “Fifteen.”

“I’m sorry, that must’ve really hard.” Danny began washing the mugs, mostly to have something to do--instead of worry. Steve didn’t seem to be dealing with anything in a healthy way--and it didn’t sound like his family was much better.

“It was, but if I hadn’t gone off to boarding school, I never would’ve gone to the Naval Academy. Things worked out.” He looked at Danny, his face still expressionless. “So--how did you get the nickname Danno?”

Danny let him change the subject. “Since both dad and granddad live here, Grace started calling me Danno when she was a baby.”

“I’m sorry you’re not getting to spend Christmas with your daughter.”

“Yeah, I really miss her but I keep reminding myself I’m lucky the judge saw things my way.” Danny put the last dish in the drainer, leaned against the counter. “Grace belongs here, with her family--not living in some condo in New Jersey with Rachel and Step-Stan. So, I have custody, and Rachel gets every other holiday and four weeks in the summer.”

“She’s lucky to have you as a dad.” Steve smiled, but his eyes were guarded. “I’m going to take a shower, if that’s OK?”

“Sure. Knock yourself out.” Danny picked up his phone, went over to the couch. A minute later, he heard the shower going. 

_What kind of father would pack his fifteen-year old son off to a boarding school after his mom died?_

Danny knew the answer--the same father who thought his kids were ‘too old for Christmas’. And while he couldn’t do anything about the Steve’s seriously screwed up family--there was one thing he _could_ do. 

Whenever they got snowed in, they generally organized arts and crafts projects to keep the guests occupied. He texted Maggie, and together, they started plotting how they could rope Steve into participating.

~~+~~

(Sunday) Normally the inn didn’t serve lunch, but today they put out trays of sandwiches and hot soup, and set up a couple of cookie decorating stations. Mostly for the already frazzled Boston Russos who were desperately trying to keep five kids and two teenagers occupied.

Danny grinned at the decor as he set down a fresh pitcher of ice water, and then checked the soup. The music room was very festive. Handmade snowflakes and paper-loop garlands were hanging everywhere, and a few rather vaguely Christmas tree-shaped objects, made with glue and cut up magazines, were nestled among the usual greenery on the fireplace mantles.

“Steve!” 

Danny turned, saw Sophie scowling. “You’re eating all the cookies. We’re supposed to be decorating them for tea.”

Steve gave Danny a wink--and ate another cookie. 

“Steve! Stop!” Sophie was so indignant, Danny had to struggle to keep a straight face.

He walked over. “I’ve got an idea. Maybe I should put Steve to work. What do you think?”

“Yes.” Sophie nodded emphatically. “He’s eating _all_ the cookies--and the M&Ms.”

“Come on, Steven. You can help me check the upstairs fireplaces.”

Steve grabbed one last handful of M&Ms, stood up. “Sure.”

Danny had to admit his plan had been a complete success. Maggie had co-opted Steve into helping her with the morning craft projects. Steve had clearly enjoyed making paper garlands and lopsided magazine trees as much as the kids--and because Steve was having fun, several of the other adults had decided to join in. 

Danny headed up the stairs, “You know, you’re a bad influence.”

He got to the top of the stairs, looked back--and his heart lurched to a stop. Steve was grinning up at him, relaxed--and _happy._

And… and he was an idiot. Why the hell was he worrying about the future? He and Steve had no future--but they did have today and tomorrow. He’d checked the weather this morning, and unless a miracle occurred, they would be snowed in Monday as well. Either Hesse would be recaptured--or he would show up on Tuesday when the roads re-opened. 

There wasn’t a damn thing Danny could do in the meantime--except maybe enjoy himself. It’d been forever since he’d been with someone, he was pretty sure the same could be said for Steve, and they were both adults. He and Steve had the rest of Sunday, and all of Monday, and then--they could go their separate ways on Tuesday.

There were five fireplaces, but it only took a few minutes for them to check each one. Steve finished stacking logs in the last one, and Danny stepped forward, crowding in just as Steve stood up.

Steve stiffened, then he was leaning down, his mouth exploring Danny’s. He tasted of sugar cookies and chocolate, and Danny kissed him back--

Steve made a small sound, pulled away. “Danny, I don’t think we should--”

“Shut up.” Danny grabbed his sweater “You’re a total numb, you know that?”

Steve half-laughed, his lips ghosting over Danny’s. “Don’t you mean stupid?” 

“That too.” And then Danny _did_ shut him up, by laying claim to Steve’s mouth.

~~+~~

Steve found himself stripping, even as some part of his brain was still trying to point out that Danny was a witness, and this was a really bad idea.

“Steve? Quit thinking.” Danny shoved him onto the bed, following him down, and fuck, Steve liked this other side of Danny. He liked it a _lot._

Danny ducked his head, opened his mouth--and then began _teasing_ him. Steve dug his fingers into the sheets, because oh fuck, Danny was going to _kill_ him. He swore and then he begged, and instead of letting him come, Danny pulled his mouth away and slapped Steve on the hip. 

“Roll over.” He leaned in close when Steve hesitated, “Oh no. You’re not coming, not until I fuck you into this mattress.”

Steve was already hard from the blow job, and Danny’s words made his balls throb and ache. He flipped over, and Danny’s hand skimmed down his back, over his ass--and fuck if he didn’t spread his legs, and buck up into that touch.

“How much prep do you need?” 

It took Steve a second to find his voice. “It’s, uh, been a while--”

Oh, fuck. Fuuuck, that was Danny’s tongue, and all Steve could do was fist the sheets while Danny fucking _claimed_ him.

Danny stopped, “Ready, babe?”

He didn’t give Steve a chance to answer, just shoved a finger in, with plenty of lube, and as rough as it was, Steve found himself rutting back against that finger--

Danny pulled away again, there was the sound of a condom wrapper--and then Danny was pushing in, hot and heavy, making a low hungry groan that went straight to Steve’s dick.

The few times Steve had let a guy ride him, they always came and came fast. He expected Danny, balancing on one hand and one elbow, to do the same. 

Instead, he set a slower pace, taking his time, angling so he hit _that_ spot with each thrust, and laughing--fucking _laughing_ when Steve started begging again. 

He thrust in deep, bottoming out, bit down on Steve’s shoulder--and Steve came. He came _hard_ , everything whiting out, as Danny fucking continued to pin him down. 

Danny finally, finally moved, pulling out and then slamming back in. He did it once more, and oh fuck, if it didn’t feel like Danny was claiming him all over again when he climaxed.

Danny dropped on top of him, breathing hard. 

Steve waited--and waited. Finally, he shifted, because Danny was like a furnace, and he really needed to clean up. Danny didn’t move. 

Steve shifted again. “Off.”

Danny twisted slightly, balancing on his left elbow, while his right hand skated across Steve’s side. “Nope. As soon as I recover, we’re doing that again.”

Steve shook his head, because there was absolutely no way he was going to be up for a second round.

“That’s OK, babe.” Danny leaned in, nipped his shoulder again. “I’ll do the heavy lifting, you can just lay there.”

~~+~~

(Monday) Steve wasn’t sure if he could move. He managed, barely to turn his head.

“It’s Monday.” Danny stretched, and smiled at him. “So there’s no tea to go set up. Think we can go for round three?”

Steve groaned and buried his face in the pillow, shooting Danny the finger when he started laughing.

Danny was definitely bossy--but the fact he was also bossy in the sack was a revelation. And the fact that Danny openly enjoyed sex was… earth-shattering.

Most of Steve’s encounters had been either furtive or rushed, sometimes both. Sex with Danny was definitely neither of those things, but it was--good. Damn good. Fun, even.

He suddenly smelled that scent, again. The faint smell of roses. He sat up, puzzled--and then noticed he had a missed call from Jerry. 

Steve reached for his phone, wincing because, thanks to Danny, he was _sore_ , and hit the redial. “What’s up?”

”They found the truck driver’s body.”

Damnit. First the driver of the car, and now the driver of the semi.

The security footage had shown Hesse getting into the passenger side of a black Freightliner, but it was too far away to make out the name of the trucking company on the door--and the trailer had been unmarked.

“Hesse left the body at The Maine Visitor Center--the local LEOs just contacted us.” Jerry continued talking, his tone was grim. “It was propped up in one of the johns. We’re still pulling the security footage, but the cleaning staff checks the stalls every three to four hours.”

Steve’s blood turned to ice. He somehow managed to talk, to keep his voice steady. “I guess we should be glad the roads are still closed up here. I know we’ve already done it, but put out another BOLO for a black Freightliner, unmarked trailer. Let them know this is the second person Hesse has killed. And check and see if we can set up roadblocks--or open more weigh stations. There has to be a way to find this truck.”

“I’m on it.” Jerry hung up.

Steve turned, put his finger to his lips, and pulled the battery out of his phone. He reached over, picked up Danny’s phone, and did the same. Then he got to his feet, scooped up Danny’s clothes, shoved them at him.

Steve got dressed as quickly as he could, then turned and finished helping Danny dress, hustling him towards the door. He pulled on his coat, then tried to be patient as Danny got ready. He reached over as soon as Danny shrugged on his coat, did up the buttons for him. He put his finger to his lips again, went down the narrow stairs.

Steve waited until they were a good fifty yards from the carriage house. “We’ve been compromised. Our phones are being tapped--I’m guessing your apartment isn’t safe, either.”

He knew it sounded ridiculous. There was no way Hesse could have access to either Danny’s apartment or phone, and certainly no way he could hack the encrypted satellite phones NCIS used. 

Steve also _knew_ Hesse. He’d hunted both Anton and Victor--and he’d underestimated Victor. Victor had deliberately chosen that specific truck stop in Pennsylvania to dump the car. Just like he’d deliberately chosen a Freightliner that could be seen by the security camera. 

Now he'd deliberately dumped the body at the welcome center. It was all one giant ‘fuck you’ to NCIS. Victor had a plan--and he knew NCIS couldn’t stop him.

Because he was somehow tracking everything Steve and Danny did--and maybe the rest of the team.

“OK. Our phones are being tapped--and my apartment, and probably the inn, may have listening devices.” Danny said it as if Steve suggesting such a thing wasn’t completely crazy. “So what do we do?”

There was the sound of a snowmobile starting up, somewhere behind the barn. Steve whirled around, saw Tamika heading towards them.

She strode up, “What’s going on?”

“Whose on the snowmobile?” Steve snapped at her.

“Carter.” Tamika’s expression changed to puzzlement “He’s going back to town. Why?”

Steve felt like an idiot--he’d just _assumed._ “He doesn’t live here?”

“No. he doesn’t. Oh shit, my cousin must be helping that Hesse guy you’re after. I was wondering why he was working here--you _never_ hire in the winter.”

“Damnit.” Danny swore. “Carter offered to help, so my mom hired him. Just two weeks ago. Wait--the snowmobile trail. He’ll have to go through the church camp--”

“You’re right.” Tamika glanced at Danny, then back to Steve. “There’s this gate you have to open to cut through the church camp property. It’s, what--fifteen minutes from here?”

“Yeah, and then another twenty from the church camp to town.” Danny looked up at Steve. “We have enough time; we can borrow Tamika’s Ski-doo, and get to the gate first. Wait for Carter when he leads Hesse back here.”

“An ambush?” Steve didn’t like it, but he didn’t trust any of the phones--so calling his team--or the sheriff--wasn’t an option. “What if he leaves the gate open?”

Tamika gave a small shrug. “Maybe? But it’s hammered into our heads to close the gate--or the church will stop letting us use the property. And I’m going with you. I bought Maggie her own snowmobile for Christmas, and your parents let me hide it in the old barn. I think, considering the circumstances, she won’t mind me using her Christmas gift.”

Steve shook his head. “I can’t risk it--”

“Steve, Tamika is probably a better shot than me--and we keep the gun safe in the old barn.” Danny’s tone was reasonable, but the set of his jaw told Steve that there was no way Danny was going to stay behind. “Last I checked, three guns are better than one, right?”

Steve didn’t like it, but he had no way of calling for back up--not without possibly tipping of Hesse. “All right, lets go.”

They hurried to the other barn. Danny opened the door--and his granddad was standing there, messing with a generator. He looked up, “Danny, what’s wrong?”

Danny looked at Steve, back at his granddad. Granddad Ed dropped the cloth he was holding. “Spit it out.”

“We think Carter is helping Hesse--”

“And he’s going to lead him up the old snowmobile trail to get here.” Tamika was already shoving some tarps and painting scaffolding aside, revealing a shiny new pink and white snowmobile. “We’re going to go to the gate--”

‘At the church camp?” Granddad Ed rocked back on his heels. “You know, there’s a deer bench in the hill right above--it would be a good place to set up a sniper’s nest. Especially if you had somebody else hunkered down in that stand of beeches by the creek.” He saw Steve’s look--and grinned. “Son, I may be old--but I’m still a Marine. Come on, let’s get the guns, and go take care of this son of a bitch.”

Tamika reached for a Remington 700, Grandad Ed grabbed a 30-06, Danny took another Remington 700, and Steve snagged a well-maintained M16, that was old enough to still be legal. He still wasn’t happy with the plan, but at least they had plenty of firepower.

They drove down to the gate, hid the two snowmobiles behind one of the church camp buildings and walked back. Danny’s granddad was struggling a bit with the walk, but he waved their concerns away and disappeared with Tamika into a clump of trees that half ringed the mouth of the creek.

Danny led Steve at an angle up the hill to the deer bench, a well worn route that the local bucks were using to travel between two higher ridges. Granddad Ed was right--it was also a perfect sniper’s nest. 

They tamped down the snow, dropped the blanket they had brought on the ground, and settled in. Steve did his best to block out the cold, started doing the calculations in his head. He divided the distance in half, mentally walked it. 

200 meters.

That meant it was roughly 400 meters to the trail, an easy distance for an M16. The bigger problem was the weather. 

It had stopped snowing yesterday, warmed up to about ten degrees. His rifle could handle that--there was a reason the Canadians had relied on M16s for years. But he had to consider the random wind gusts blowing through. Wind was a bitch to deal with it, especially if it was unpredictable. 

Damn, but it was cold. He looked away from the sights and even though he was wearing gloves, tucked his hands in his coat pockets to keep them warm. He was tempted to glance over at Danny, see if the cold was bothering his wrist--but he didn’t dare take his eyes off the trail.

About ten minutes after they settled into place, Steve heard it.

The sound of snowmobiles. 

He did the calculations again, checked for wind--again. And waited.

Carter appeared first, on a rather battered looking snowmobile. Hesse was directly behind him, on a newer machine. 

Steve snugged the rifle to his shoulder, slowed his breathing. 

Checked for wind.

Carter stopped his snowmobile, got off to open the gate. Hess reached down, slowly pulled his Glock from its holster.

Danny and Steve both fired. Steve fired a triple shot to the chest, the M16 thumping against his shoulder, the sound underwhelming against the Remington’s loud crack.

Danny’s bullet tore through the neck.

Hesse crumpled, slid sideways off the snowmobile. The Glock he’d been holding fell into the snow. 

Carter spun around--and then he ran towards the gun.

Steve charged down the hill and tackled Carter, using an elbow to slam him up against the snowmobile. Steve felt ribs break, and Carter panicked, began punching and thrashing. 

It was like fighting an ox. The kid had no skills, but he was young and big and muscular. Steve grabbed the kid’s arm, and twisted. 

Carter’s knee hit him in the thigh, smashing his leg against the snowmobile. Steve grunted, wrenched harder--and Carter’s shoulder popped out of joint. 

He screamed. 

Steve let go, and the kid collapsed into the snow, moaning in pain. He tentatively put his weight down on his leg and swore. Fuck. It wasn’t broken, but he was going to have one hell of a bruise.

“Tamika?” Granddad Ed retrieved the Glock from the snow. “I think we should ride into town, and get the sheriff and the paramedics.”

“Ayuh.” Tamika glanced at her cousin, who was still writhing in pain, with disgust. “Let’s get going--before I’m tempted to bury an axe in someone who really, really deserves it.”

Steve watched them leave, then sat down on Carter’s snowmobile, wincing because his leg was throbbing.

“Nice tackle.” Danny walked over, sat down next to him. “The good news is--our plan worked. The bad news is we’re now going to have to somehow explain said plan to NCIS.” 

Steve looked down at Danny, who was _safe_. “It was a good plan, though.”

“Yep.”

They both looked at Hesse’s body, then Carter. And then back to Hesse’s body.

“Or, instead of explaining this--” Steve looked down at Danny again, “I could just quit.”

Danny tipped his head back, a smile stealing across his face. “Really? Just like that?” 

“Well.” Steve smiled back. “I hear Maine's pretty nice this time of year.”

~~Epilogue~~

(one year later) Steve put the last two stacks of towels on the shelf, checked off the final item on the laundry service’s list.

They were missing two wash clothes and a napkin. He folded the list, stuck it in a pocket. He’d have to call service later--after tea.

There was the faint smell of roses.

He took a quick step toward the door, his fingers grabbing the flashlight--just as the lights flicked out. He turned the flashlight on--and the lights came back on at the same time.

Steve put the flashlight back, and reminded himself, again, that he did _not_ believe in ghosts.

“Steve?” Danny’s voice, calling down the stairs.

“Coming.” He shut the door behind him. Picked his way up the uneven steps, slowing when he saw both Danny and Grace were waiting for him.“What’s going on?”

Grace bounced with excitement. “We want to give you your Christmas gift.”

“Christmas is a week away.” Steve looked from her to Danny, trying to figure out what the two of them were up to.

“I know. But your gift arrived and--” Danny put a hand on his arm. “Monkey here insisted we give it to you now. Close your eyes.”

Grace grabbed his hand at the same time, and Steve closed his eyes, let himself be tugged into the music room. 

“All right.” Danny let go. “You can open them.”

Steve dutifully opened them--and froze. Mary was standing in the middle of the music room, with Joan by her side. 

“Mary?” He stepped forward, and his sister wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back. “But I thought you said you couldn’t get the time off.”

“Surprise! I, uh, may have gone to my boss’ office and cried.” Mary didn’t seem the least bit ashamed of emotionally blackmailing her supervisor. She let go, and leaned down. “Joan, this is your Uncle Steve.”

Joan, three and half years old, tipped her head way back. “You beat up bad guys.”

“Well, I used to beat up bad guys.” Steve reached down, and picked her up. To his surprise, she immediately snuggled against him. “But I’m now retired from beating up bad guys.”

Retired. 

There were still moments Steve couldn’t quite believe he was actually retired. But--

He looked back over at Mary and Danny and Grace. He was going to get to enjoy Christmas with his family. And as an added perk, tea was in fifteen minutes--which meant there would also be cookies _and_ hot cocoa.

~~Finis~~


End file.
